


The Hardest Thing In This World

by coffeejunkii



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his grandmother dies, Mike seeks out Harvey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Thing In This World

**Author's Note:**

> I plotted most of this story before 2x09 aired, so it diverges from canon established in that episode and takes place about a year after current canon. Spoilers through 2x10. Inspired by [this gif set](http://fuckyeahharveyandmike.tumblr.com/post/28718051084/jared-padasexy-au-meme-mike-goes-to-harvey) on Tumblr. Many thanks to Rurounihime for betaing and encouragement.

It's the end of a long day at the end of a long week and all Mike wants is to forget about work for the next forty-eight hours. He keeps it together as he walks through the mostly dark office, but when the elevator doors close, he slumps against the wall and scrubs a hand across his face. Numbers and phrases dance across his closed eyelids, fragments of the 2,000-plus pages he scoured today to find the tiniest inconsistency among various settlement offers.

The bike ride home clears his mind. By the time he unlocks his door, sleep seems an actual possibility. It's all Mike wants—to faceplant into his bed and sleep and sleep and sleep. He drops his bag and kicks off his uncomfortable dress shoes while calling his voice mail. Harvey had ordered him to turn his phone off earlier in the day, aware that Mike only received personal calls on his cell. 

Mike's surprised that he has five new messages. Aside from Harvey and Grammy, or, occasionally, Rachel and Donna, hardly anyone calls him these days. 

_11:04am—Hey, Mike, it's Tracy. Edith's not doing so well today, so maybe you could call her to cheer her up a little. She's been talking about how busy you are, but it would be nice, you know?_

_1:08pm: Hey, Tracy again. Not to worry you, but I wanted to let you know that Edith has had some problems with her left arm and leg this morning. We might take her next door to the hospital for a more in-depth check-up._

_4:36pm: Tracy here. Mike, please call me back ASAP. Edith's had another stroke and she's in the ICU. She seems to be pulling through, but it would be better if you came by._

_7:01pm: Mike, you need to get here now. Edith's in critical condition and we're not sure...Sorry, I gotta go._

_8:25pm: Mike—Mike, it's Tracy. I'm sorry that I didn't manage to get a hold of you to tell you in person, but Edith passed away about fifteen minutes ago. I'm so very sorry._

Mike disconnects from his voice mail, places the phone on his kitchen table, and cannot wrap his mind around the words he's just heard. He's moving before he fully realizes it, grabbing his keys and wallet on the way out the door.

**

The soft knock shatters the remnants of Harvey's concentration. The words on the page in front of him had started to blur together a while ago, but without this one final read-through of the offer he wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight.

There are only a handful of people who have access to his apartment this late at night, and Harvey thinks it might be Donna with either last-minute additions that he needs to sign off on or with “we deserve this” desserts. Harvey hopes for the latter.

Mike is perhaps the last person he expects to see when he opens the door. “What are you doing here?” The question slips out with a hint of accusation that Harvey didn't intend.

“I didn't know where else to go,” Mike whispers.

Harvey steps aside to let him in. Mike doesn't meet his eyes and stops walking a few feet into the apartment as if he's uncertain about what he's doing here. Harvey registers the slight shake in Mike's hand before he balls it into a fist.

“Mike?” Harvey asks, softer than before. “What's wrong?”

Mike doesn't answer right away; it's obvious that he's having trouble forming words. “Grammy.” He stops, clears his throat. “My grandmother. She passed away. Today.”

Harvey's instinct to flee is immediate. He isn't good with people or raw emotions, and he's particularly bad with grief. He avoids it at all cost, even his own, and it's been six years. He can deal with that loss because he's established a routine and has measured off a specific time and place to deal with it. But he also knows that he can't shove Mike out the door simply because Mike shook up a few sections of Harvey's compartmentalized life. Mike looks like he can barely remain upright as it is. 

Harvey rests a hand on Mike's shoulder and opens his mouth to share the least offensive platitude his mind can come up with when Mike launches himself into Harvey's arms and holds on tight. Harvey stiffly returns the hug.

“I'm sorry,” Mike whispers. “I can't—Harvey, I don't know—I don't—” A sob swallows the rest of what he's trying to say.

Mike's shaking and Harvey's at a loss. He remembers with startling clarity how he felt when Donna came into his office, her usual composure rattled, and told him about his dad. Keeping it together in that moment and for the rest of the day had been one of the most difficult things Harvey had ever had to face. The night that followed had been filled with an aching emptiness that Harvey finally chased away by going back to the office at four am.

Harvey realizes that he has a choice now: he can keep his distance and offer polite company while Mike falls apart, or he can be there for Mike and damn the consequences. With anyone else, Harvey would choose option one without hesitation. But it's Mike. What's one more risk when he's already taken more risks with Mike than are either rational or defensible?

Harvey decides that the only way out is through.

He shifts his stance to draw Mike's weight more fully against himself and slides his arm low around Mike's back. Mike tries to pull away, but Harvey keeps him close. He curls a hand over the back of Mike's neck and mutters, “It's alright.”

Mike settles against him, face tucked into the crook of Harvey's neck. He doesn't bother to stifle his sobs any longer.

Harvey holds Mike close and strokes his back. Long, slow sweeps along the length of Mike's spine, which are as much for Mike's comfort as for his own. He needs something to focus on because things that Harvey usually keeps locked up tightly are clamoring to get out. Harvey pushes them back down; if he's going to be there for Mike, he can't deal with ghosts of his own.

When Mike quiets, Harvey slowly disentangles them and nods toward the couch. “Let's talk.”

Mike follows and accepts the drink Harvey pours for him. Harvey sits down close to Mike, angling his body toward him. He isn't sure if Mike wants more physical comfort, but he wants to show he's open to the possibility. 

Mike stares at the drink for a minute before he knocks it back, wincing at the burn. He falls back against the cushions. His hands come up to cover his eyes and he takes a few stuttering breaths. 

Harvey moves a little closer and stretches his arm along the back of the couch. He finds silence unsettling, but wants to leave it up to Mike to begin a conversation.

Mike's hands fall away from his eyes, but he keeps them closed. He turns toward Harvey, almost as if by instinct, and when he starts speaking, his voice wavers. “There were five voice mails when I got home.”

Harvey instantly recalls his flippant _Time to turn off that phone and focus on your work, rookie_ from earlier. “Shit, Mike, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—”

“You couldn't know,” Mike cuts in, eyes open and steadily fixed on Harvey.

The earnest expression in Mike's eyes tells Harvey that Mike won't blame him for that decision, but that doesn't mean Harvey won't fault himself for it later. He acknowledges Mike's statement with a nod.

Mike's eyes fall away again. “She had another stroke. They thought she'd pull through, but then...” 

“I'm sorry.” Harvey keeps his voice low and hopes Mike understands that he means it.

“Yeah.” It's a sigh more than a word. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes lose focus.

A fierce protectiveness wells up in Harvey. For once, he doesn't try to squash it or the other assorted feelings for Mike that flash through Harvey's mind on occasion. He rests his hand between Mike's shoulder blades and waits.

“I should...” Mike begins. “I should go over to the home and see if there's paperwork or...fuck. There's paperwork, right? There always is.”

Harvey nods. “I'll drive.”

Mike looks up at him. “You don't have to. I can—”

“I'll drive.” 

**

The city lights streak past the car window in endless ribbons. The glass feels cool against Mike's cheek. It's all he can focus on. Lights. Cold. His mind is empty and he's glad Harvey's not trying to strike up a conversation because Mike isn't sure he could muster the energy for words.

Too soon they pull up in front of the familiar building. Mike's come here a few times a month for the past six years. Before, he was usually happy to climb up the stairs to the front entrance, but tonight, the aching familiarity of the chipped stone steps, the bedraggled flowers in their large pots, and the creak of the door nearly overwhelm him. Harvey's hand touches against his back for a moment, solid and warm.

Doris is on duty at reception. Her perpetual scowl softens when she sees Mike. “I only just heard,” she greets him. “I'm sorry. Edith was a wonderful woman.”

Mike would have previously doubted that Doris would describe anyone as wonderful, but he's grateful for the kind words. “Thank you.”

Doris' gaze shifts past Mike to settle on Harvey. Her eyes narrow.

Mike senses that despite the circumstances, Doris won't hesitate to enforce the “no visitors aside from family after hours” rule and makes a split-second decision. Grasping Harvey's hand, he says, “This is Harvey. My partner.” 

Harvey steps close to Mike, leaning against him in a way that leaves no doubts about the supposed intimacy of their relationship.

Doris looks back and forth between them. “Well, go on up, then,” she says, scowl firmly back in place.

As they make their way over to the elevators, Mike tries to release Harvey's hand, but Harvey refuses to let go. Mike is stupidly grateful for it. He doesn't understand what made Harvey suspend his rule of not caring about others, but he's willing to hang on to anything Harvey will offer.

Tracy leans on the counter at the nurses' station when they reach the third floor. “Oh, Mike,” she murmurs when she spots him and folds him into a tight hug.

Mike bites his lip to keep the tears at bay. Tracy's always made sure to look after Grammy more than the other nurses. They bonded over raising boys and Mike knows she must also keenly feel the loss of a friend.

As their hug ends, Mike gestures behind him. “This is Harvey.”

In a fluid motion, Harvey reaches out to shake Tracy's hand while his other comes to rest on Mike's back again, lingering too long and too low to be merely friendly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Even through the haze of feeling too much and nothing at all, Mike realizes that Harvey's ability to tell an entire story in one gesture is why Harvey's the best closer in New York.

“I've heard so much about you,” Tracy replies, wheels clearly turning in her mind. She sobers when she turns back to Mike. “We've brought Edith back over from the ICU. We thought that you might prefer to say goodbye in more familiar surroundings.”

Mike fumbles for Harvey's hand, wanting something—someone—to hold on to. “Thanks,” he manages.

“There are also a few forms to fill out, and we can help you make arrangements for the funeral, but take your time first. There's no rush.” With a squeeze to Mike's shoulder, Tracy returns to the folders spread out on the counter.

Harvey walks with him until they reach the door to Grammy's room. “I'll wait. Unless...?”

Mike shakes his head. This is something he has to do by himself. “I might lose track of time. Get me in an hour?”

“I will.” He squeezes Mike's hand before letting go.

**

Harvey settles into a chair a few feet down the hall and pulls out his phone to return a few non-urgent emails that had begun to pile up during the past week. He's in the middle of putting together a to-do list for Donna when Mike emerges from Edith's room with red eyes and a haunted look on his face. Harvey stands up and pockets his phone, unsure what Mike might need.

“Is there a law against hurting this much?” Mike asks softly.

Harvey crosses the few feet between them. “Unfortunately, no.”

They're standing close enough for Harvey to feel Mike's hitched breaths, but they're not touching. “The hardest thing in this world is to live in it,” Harvey quotes.

Mike's hand curls into the soft fabric of Harvey's shirt. Harvey shuffles forward until their bodies align. Mike holds himself still, as if he's uncertain about allowing himself to be drawn close. Harvey doesn't think the uncertainty has anything to do with them standing in a semi-public hallway—Mike is generous with his affection for people he cares about no matter where he is—or that their stance conveys intimacy—the phrase “professional closet” is probably unfamiliar to Mike, and even if he's heard about it, he wouldn't submit to it. It's much more likely that Mike doesn't want to fall apart like he did earlier, not when he has to keep a clear mind for the impending conversation about arrangements and forms. Harvey can appreciate that. But he also thinks it's stupid. This being a nursing home, the staff should be familiar with grieving relatives.

Harvey's hands settle on Mike's hips, lightly at first until he's sure the touch is welcome. “The pain...eventually, it's less sharp. Less prominent.” His hands slide around to Mike's back. “But it'll always be there.”

Mike doesn't respond but he relaxes against Harvey. His breathing is still uneven and Harvey can feel that his eyes are squeezed shut. Harvey is well-acquainted with pushing feelings down, out of the way and into a tight little box. The struggle must be depleting what little energy Mike has left, and Harvey knows from experience that he isn't helping Mike's efforts of trying to keep it together by comforting him.

Harvey lets go and takes a step back. “Paperwork,” he says firmly.

Mike squares his shoulders. “Right.”

Pitching his voice low, Harvey adds, “Then we'll go home.”

Anguish mixes with longing in Mike's eyes upon hearing the word _home_ , but he nods and sets off in the direction of the nurses' station.

**

Mike makes it through the first three lines on the form before his hand shakes too badly to continue. He puts the pen down, flexes his fingers, and tries again. It doesn't make any difference. He stops once more, and when he tries to fill in his grandmother's name for a third time, Harvey gently plucks the pen from him.

“How about I write?” he suggests. “You just use your freakish brain to provide all the information.”

Rattling off names, dates and facts is soothing. Harvey takes it all down in neat handwriting. At various points he asks for clarification of how to spell this or that. Mike doesn't fully process what information Harvey is asking for; he hears Harvey's prompts and his brain spits out the correct data. 

“That's everything,” Harvey announces after a while. He flips through the forms one more time, double-checking every box and line.

It brings a small smile to Mike's face. Harvey's dedication to doing things right is something Mike appreciates after having spent too much time evading what's right and getting by with doing what was wrong.

“When's the last time you ate something?” Harvey asks.

“Um. Lunch, maybe? I'm not hungry.” Mike is sure that his body would refuse any sort of food.

Harvey gives him an exasperated look. “You have to eat.”

“If that's your veiled hint that you're hungry, you should say so.” The banter is familiar and comforting.

“Not what I said, but I'll go with it if that means you'll have something, too.”

Mike sighs. “There's a diner a few blocks from here.”

**

Harvey insists they get their food to go because, in his words, none of the tables look like they've been cleaned in the past decade. Mike rolls his eyes but grabs his milkshake and Harvey's slice of pie. On the way back to Manhattan, they take a detour and stop by the water, which Mike suspects is the real reason why Harvey didn't want to eat at the diner.

Mike has to admit that the view is beautiful. The tightness in his chest loosens a fraction as he takes in the view of the tall buildings across the water, lit up against the night sky. The breeze coming off the East River is chilly and Mike leans against Harvey, who doesn't hesitate to bring an arm around him.

Mike finally gives voice to the question that's been going around his mind the entire evening. “Why are you doing this? Caring isn't your usual MO.”

It takes Harvey a moment to respond. “You haven't figured this out by now?”

“Not really.”

Harvey leans back a little and studies Mike intently before— _oh._ Harvey's lips are warm and soft and they linger for barely a moment. 

“Oh.” Mike is too stunned to come up with anything else.

Harvey ducks his head. “Yeah.”

“Really?” 

“You seriously didn't pick up on this?”

“I—well, yes, I guess I did, but—” 

Harvey kisses him again, more insistent this time, and something sparks in Mike. He brings a hand up to Harvey's cheek to make sure he won't pull away and then licks into Harvey's mouth, gratified when that elicits a moan. It feels good, it feels so fucking good, and Mike chases after that feeling with all he got. He presses himself closer to Harvey and tugs at the edge of his shirt, needing to get a hand underneath it.

“Let's not,” Harvey mumbles against Mike's lips. “Let's not get arrested for public indecency.”

Mike huffs out a laugh. “That probably wouldn't be good, no.” He can't resist placing a kiss against Harvey's jaw, however, and he can't bring himself to pull away completely. He tucks himself against the crook of Harvey's neck and tries to keep the surge of want at bay. It blazes white-hot through him, utterly unexpected and probably stoked by the upheaval of the evening. He shudders.

“Alright there?” Harvey asks. 

The _yes_ is on Mike's tongue, but he says, “Not really.”

Mike doesn't expect Harvey to kiss him once more, but it's an entirely different kiss, just a soft press of lips, almost chaste. It's calming and leaves Mike feeling more like himself again.

“Come on,” Harvey says and pulls him off the bench. “We could both use some sleep.”

** 

When they get back to his apartment, Harvey worries that things might get awkward. He certainly had not planned on kissing Mike, but in that moment, he reacted almost without thinking. It had felt right, and it was certainly better than an overly emotional declaration of feelings. Mike's response—well. They'd have to revisit that very soon.

Harvey needn't have worried. A comfortable silence has settled between them, only broken when Mike asks about taking a shower and Harvey hands him some clothes to sleep in.

Once they are finally in bed, it turns out that neither of them can fall asleep.

Mike's tossing and turning next to him, and while Harvey considers himself tolerant of his partners' sleeping patterns, the constant wiggling is driving him insane. He moves closer to Mike and nudges him onto his side so he can stretch out behind him. With an arm around Mike's waist, Harvey tries to induce some stillness in him.

“Sorry,” Mike says. “I can go sleep in the guest room.”

Harvey doesn't dignify that with an answer. “Just try to be still for a moment.”

“My brain won't shut off,” Mike whispers. “I keep thinking about how I didn't get to say goodbye to her. That I wasn't there.”

The thought is painfully familiar to Harvey. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Mike's nape. He waits until he thinks his voice won't desert him during what he's about to share with Mike. “I never got to say goodbye to my Dad, either.”

“When did he die?”

“Six years ago. Heart attack.” 

Mike covers Harvey's hand with his own. “I'm sorry.”

“It was just a normal day. Busy. Big case. Then I came back to the office and Donna—” Harvey has to pause because his throat threatens to close up. “Donna told me.”

Mike turns onto his back, presumably to look at Harvey. Unwilling to see the sympathy in Mike's eyes, Harvey shifts until his head rests against Mike's chest. Mike's hands settle on him with purpose; one winds into his hair, and the other sneaks under his T-shirt to slide up and down his side.

Usually, Harvey can't stand this kind of intimacy. He allows it, on occasion, after sex because he knows it's only polite not to kick the other person out of bed right after they have come. But he doesn't initiate it or seek it out. With Mike, however, it's different. Perhaps because he knows it's not a hollow gesture and it doesn't come with expectations. Or perhaps because he and Mike have lived in each other's pockets for two years now, have spent countless hours together when they were elated, exhausted, and everything in-between. Harvey realizes that he started letting his guard down around Mike a while ago, possibly even before Harvey had started to consider—always furtively and in passing—what it might be like if Mike were more than his associate.

“You couldn't have known,” Mike murmurs.

“No. But that doesn't make it any better.”

“It really doesn't.” Bitterness and regret weave through Mike's words.

“I'd talked to him the day before. We'd been talking about me flying out to California to see him play—”

“Play? Wait, your dad wasn't a lawyer?” Mike sounds truly confused.

Harvey chuckles. “Saxophone player.”

“Wow. And here I thought you come from generations of lawyers.”

“Far from it.” It occurs to Harvey how strange it is that in all the time they've known each other, he and Mike have never talked about this. How Harvey grew up. What his family was like. Maybe he keeps his cards too close to this chest sometimes. “I think my dad was always a little disappointed that I went into such a boring profession despite his best efforts.”

“Huh. That's—huh. So, the records...”

“There was always music in our house. My dad practiced often, of course. The rest of the time, it was records.” It's one of Harvey's fondest childhood memories. “There's something about the sound of a record on a turntable that no other form of recorded music can measure up to.”

“Do you have any of his records?”

“I do.” Harvey can see their dim outlines on the shelf across the room. They are the only part of his record collection that he doesn't keep at the office.

Mike shifts until they're facing each other. “Could we—could we listen to one?”

Harvey had anticipated the question, and yet, he finds he can't answer right away. He rarely listens to his dad's music, and he hardly ever shares the experience with someone else.

“We don't have to,” Mike says. 

Harvey finds that he does want to, that he wants to share this with Mike. He gestures toward the shelf. “Why don't you pick one?”

Mike turns on the light on the nightstand and gets out of bed. He spends a few minutes studying the records and then picks _Live at The Blue Note_. It's an excellent choice.

When the first notes fill the air, Harvey closes his eyes, and for a moment he is transported to a different place from a long time ago. He smiles. 

The light turns off and the bed dips next to Harvey. He reaches for Mike and folds him into his arms.

“Good?” Mike asks.

“Hmm.” Harvey brushes his lips against Mike's temple and finally, finally falls asleep.

** 

Soft mid-morning light streams in through the windows when Mike wakes up. Harvey's next to him, spread out on his stomach. The T-shirt he's wearing has ridden up during the night, leaving his lower back exposed. Mike places his hand there, relishing the warmth of Harvey's skin.

Yesterday's pain is still there, an ugly dark thing pressing in on Mike's heart. Mike pushes back against it. He can have a few hours, he tells himself. A few hours to just be, stay in this room, stay with Harvey. 

Mike slides his hand up Harvey's back and watches as Harvey awakens. Mike would have expected Harvey to be one of those people who go from deep sleep to startling clarity in under ten seconds, but he's wrong. At first, there are low contented noises; then he nudges closer to Mike, reaching for him so he can nuzzle his neck and cheek. Mike catches his mouth. There isn't much coordination in the kiss, its only real purpose the reassurance of a connection. Too soon Harvey pulls away, the sleepy languor almost gone. 

“Hi,” Mike whispers.

“Hey.” There's a rough edge to Harvey's voice. Maybe Harvey isn't completely awake yet.

Mike brings his hand up to Harvey's face and traces a line across his cheek. Harvey catches his fingers and presses a kiss to his palm, keeping a hold of Mike's hand after.

“Don't stop.” The spark Mike felt yesterday is back and he wants nothing more than to surrender to it.

Harvey leans in and they kiss again, slow and deep. Mike tugs at Harvey's shirt until he shifts his weight and settles on top of Mike. The world seems to narrow down to Harvey's solid warmth. Mike draws up a knee to bracket Harvey's hip and then pushes up in a slow drag. Harvey's lips go slack; with another roll of Mike's hips, Harvey moans. He presses back down against Mike and they fall into a rhythm. 

Just when Mike thinks he could come from this, Harvey stops. “Wait. Are you sure?”

Mike groans. “Am I sure that I want a truly marvelous orgasm in the next three minutes? Yes.” He leans up to kiss Harvey again, but Harvey turns his head away.

“I need to know—” Harvey looks at a loss for words, and Harvey is never at a loss for words.

“What?” Mike asks softly. 

Harvey doesn't look at him when he answers. “I need to know if this is just...something life-affirming in the face of loss. Or if it's more. It's fine either way, but...” He falls silent.

Mike has the distinct feeling that it is not fine either way. “It's both.” Harvey still isn't looking at him. With gentle pressure against Harvey's cheek, Mike makes sure their eyes meet. “Yes, it's definitely some sort of life-affirming, comfort...thing. But it's not just that. I'm not just going to walk away after this.”

There's a flicker of uncertainty in Harvey's eyes, but he leans down and kisses Mike. They start out gentle, almost as if this is the first kiss they've shared. Mike hopes it's confirmation enough because he wants to move this somewhere a lot less innocent. He rolls his hips again just as Harvey's tongue swipes into this mouth.

“Clothes off,” Mike mumbles.

Harvey is happy to oblige. They fling T-shirts, boxers, and pajama pants toward the foot of the bed. When Mike draws Harvey back against him, they both groan. Mike fumbles a hand between them—he has to feel, wants to know the weight of Harvey's cock against his hand. His fingers close around the base and move up to the wet tip; he rubs his palm over the head before moving back down.

After a few strokes, Harvey stills Mike's hand. “Fair warning.” He sounds a little breathless. “If you keep that up, I'm going to come. And then I'll need some recovery time because not all of us are twenty-seven anymore. So if you wanted something else, you need to stop.”

Mike twists his wrist out of Harvey's hold. He teases his fingertips along Harvey's cock. “What else do you think I might want?”

Harvey bites his lips before he replies. “You tell me. You seem to have some experience with how this can go.”

“Sure. Seems like you might have some ideas as well.” Mike puts a little more pressure into his movements. 

With a shaky exhale, Harvey replies, “I've been with men before, if that's what you're implying.”

It wasn't what Mike was angling for, but he tucks away the information for later examination. “Me too,” he volunteers. “But not recently.”

“Hmm. No interest?” Harvey seems to regain some control now that his brain is occupied with information to chase after.

“More like no opportunity. My boss is a bit of a hardass.”

Harvey smiles. “So I've heard.” He reaches for Mike's hand again and takes it away from his cock. Lacing their fingers together, he rests them against Mike's chest. “In the interest of full disclosure, I go to the bars sometimes. I usually like to keep it casual.”

The idea of Harvey picking up men makes Mike squirm.

Harvey huffs out a laugh. “Okay, so knowing that isn't a problem, then.”

Visions of Harvey in the backroom of some upscale club in Chelsea dance in Mike's mind. “Not at all.”

Harvey mouths along Mike's collarbone. “What about you?”

Mike knows Harvey won't like this answer. He's still trying to figure out the best way to explain this when Harvey asks, “Trevor?”

Mike nods. He quickly adds, “I know he's an asshole, but he wasn't always that way. There were times—we used to be good together.”

“Hmm.” Harvey kisses Mike's neck. “I assume there were others?”

Mike's eyes close when Harvey finds that one spot underneath his ear. He swallows before he speaks. “Yeah. But mostly Trevor.” There was a time when Trevor could make Mike feel utterly safe. It's another thing he's irrevocably lost. Mike curls a hand into Harvey's hair.

“Would you like me to fuck you?” Harvey's voice is low and intent.

A shiver spreads along Mike's skin. “God, yes.”

** 

Harvey takes his time. It's been a while for Mike, after all, and it's been a long time since Harvey had someone in his bed he actually cares about. He goes back to that spot under Mike's ear first; he nips and sucks until Mike stutters out his name in a broken voice.

Harvey moves lower, then, and tries to find more spots that make Mike sound like that. There's a hitch of breath when Harvey drags his fingers down Mike's side, and when Harvey licks along the dip of his hip, Mike's knee knocks against him in an involuntary spasm. On the next go, Harvey brings his lips down as well. He glances up at Mike, sees as his eyes close and a flush spreads along his cheeks. Good, Harvey thinks. He wants Mike to lose himself. Setting his mouth to work, Harvey slides his thumb along the opposite hip, tracing back and forth, back and forth, until Mike is squirming underneath him. 

With a brief kiss against the side of Mike's cock, Harvey pulls away and reaches into his nightstand. Mike takes the lube and condom out of his hand, dropping the foil packet next to him. The lube is cold against Harvey's fingers, but Mike takes some time to spread it around. There's something about the way Mike kneads his fingers that makes Harvey's heart speed up. Or maybe it's the way Mike's looking at him, unguarded and trusting. 

When Harvey pushes a finger inside, Mike's eyes slide close again. Harvey follows suit; he doesn't need his eyes for this. He can feel Mike's breath against his cheek and his hand against his side. He'll know when Mike's ready.

The whine that escapes Mike when Harvey is three fingers deep is a sure sign. Harvey wipes his hand on the sheet and reaches for the condom. For a brief moment, Harvey imagines what it would be like to fuck Mike bare, but he's not stupid, and besides, maybe someday—

As he presses inside, he murmurs, “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Mike's fingers dance along Harvey's shoulder. “'m good.”

Mike's toes flex against Harvey's calf, a brief tap-tap-tap as Harvey slides in. He watches Mike closely, notes the minute ways in which Mike shifts underneath him. A sharp intake of breath stills Harvey. He's about to ask Mike for reassurance when a soft touch against the dip of back tells him it's okay to go on.

When he's in to the hilt, Harvey asks, “What do you like? Fast? Slow? Do you just want to come?”

Mike shakes his head as he draws his knees up until they frame Harvey's waist. “Deep.”

Harvey can do that. He curls a hand underneath Mike's shoulder for leverage. On the next push in, Harvey holds himself still for a few moments when he's pressed up against Mike all the way. Mike arches, stunningly beautiful. Folding both arms around Harvey, Mike pushes himself into every stroke. 

This slow unraveling is precisely why Harvey usually doesn't let emotions into the bedroom. It's impossible to keep a distance when Mike is this open with him, for him. Mike doesn't even try to hold himself back—he sighs and moans and twists under Harvey, whispering _more_ and _there_ and _god, Harvey_. It drags Harvey under with no means of escape.

The tension coils tighter in Harvey and he feels his control slipping away. “Are you close?”

Mike nods. The knuckles of his hand bump against Harvey's skin when Mike reaches for his cock. Harvey watches him, wants to memorize how Mike likes to be touched. The sight also makes his rhythm falter. Harvey knows he can't hold on much longer, but he wants to make Mike come first. He grasps Mike's thigh and presses it up toward his chest, opening him up more. They both groan at how deep the next stroke goes, and Harvey knows he miscalculated this, that there's no way he can pull back now. His hips stutter and jerk and he comes with a string of curses on his lips.

Harvey drops Mike's leg and rests his forehead against Mike's chest as he catches his breath. A hand smoothes down his back. “Sorry,” Harvey offers.

“You only have to be sorry if you stop now,” Mike mumbles as he continues to rock against Harvey.

“I promise I'll make you see stars, but—” The pressure on Harvey's cock is too much. He eases himself out of Mike, ties off the condom and drops it next to the bed.

Mike draws him into a sloppy kiss. Harvey tries to wrap his hand around Mike's cock, but finds his fingers being pushed lower. 

“Inside,” Mike murmurs against Harvey's lips.

“Two?” 

“Three.” Mike's fingers close around Harvey's wrist to guide him. “You can try four.”

Three fingers slide into Mike easily enough. Harvey lets Mike twist his hand this way and that until his entire body jerks. “I got it,” Harvey says, dragging the pads of his fingers against that spot. 

“Oh shit, yes. Keep doing that.” 

Harvey watches as Mike's hand closes around his cock again. He observes how Mike holds himself loosely at first, but then tightens his grip as his strokes get rougher and more uneven. Harvey speculates that Mike only needs one more little nudge. 

Spreading the three fingers he has inside Mike, Harvey closely watches for discomfort, but the only sign he gets is Mike clawing at the sheets. When Harvey teases four fingers into him and then presses forward in one long, deep slide, Mike tenses and comes.

**

Mike worries for a moment that Harvey might hustle them out of bed more or less right away, but he's pleased to discover that Harvey merely rolls over to the other side, dragging Mike along with him.

Mike dozes as Harvey's fingers sweep along his skin. They are a steady, comforting presence. When Mike surfaces fully again, he curls closer to Harvey and holds on. There are thoughts niggling at the edge of his mind, and he knows he can't banish them for much longer.

“Everything alright?” Harvey asks softly. He wraps an arm around Mike's waist and pulls him half on top of him.

“Just thinking.” Saying out loud what's going through his mind would make everything oppressively real again. 

“You should stay the weekend.”

It's a tempting offer. “There are things I have to do. I need to find a funeral home. And clean out her room. And I think she had a will, so I should look into that. And she had some friends in Florida—what if no one's called them yet? And—”

“Hey,” Harvey cuts him off. “Look at me.”

Mike squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before propping himself up on one arm.

“I'm sure the home can recommend someone for the funeral. Who knows, they may have already set something up. The rest can wait until Monday.”

“But—”

“You need some time.” Harvey's eyes dart away, flick to the idle patterns he is drawing against Mike's shoulder. “When my dad passed away, I threw myself into work. A few weeks later, it all hit me in the middle of a meeting. I had to leave the room. Lost the deal. Spent a week at home staring at walls.”

Mike wants to ask if Harvey didn't have anyone to turn to, or why he didn't seek out Donna or Jessica. But this was obviously hard enough to share, and if there had been anyone by Harvey's side, he probably would have mentioned it, especially if it was someone Mike knows. “So you'll watch me stare at walls?”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation. Harvey's gaze is back on him, steady and sure. “Whatever you need, Mike.”

It's so much more than Mike expected. He's still getting used to this side of Harvey—a side that other people usually don't see. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Harvey repeats with a warm smile.

Mike settles back against Harvey, closes his eyes, and exhales.

end.

**Author's Note:**

> The line Harvey quotes is from Buffy 5x22, “The Gift.”


End file.
